I think that Bethesda, which translates “house of mercy,” must have often looked like a Black Friday stampede in which miracles are only for the most alert, the fastest, the ones with the right friends. Really? I don’t like that. I want miracles to go the most deserving, the most needy, the ones in the best position to bring glory to God. I want to know what I must do to become that person. This kind of thinking is impossible to resist when it seems like heaven’s shelves are empty because you didn’t get in the right line on time.